Golden Eyes, Gifted Binds
by Shadow.of.Memories
Summary: Naruto's team has to go undercover to protect a prestigious school from a renegade gang. They and another member will go through the school year, trying to understand love, betrayal, and themselves.


Hello to all. Welcome to Golden Eyes, Gifted Binds Chapter 1:** Neon**. The title for today's chapter was influenced by John Mayer's song Neon. All chapters in this story will be named after songs or lyrics.  
_The Disclaimer you all know you love - I don't own Naruto or characters or anything that has to do with Naruto. I also had nothing to do with writing/producing/singing/performing "Neon"_

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"Yamanato Ai." The large, bulbous man waddles quickly to me, his fat rolling over his pants like a muffin. I twitch a little, adjusting my glasses in the process. "Did you get that interview done?" He pulls his pants up, his entire body rippling in the aftermath. 

"No, sir. My mind has been on other things." I pause for a split second, a pained expression landing perfectly on my blemished face. In that moment, I thought up a perfect explanation for my interview not being done. "Recently, I found out that my aunt was taken out of the hospital. She was in there for quite a while and now she needs somewhere to live and someone to take care of her. I've been a little preoccupied" The perfect lie, at the perfect time. In fact, I don't think I've used that one in a while.

"I don't care if you were paralyzed from the waist down. I want that interview on my desk by tomorrow morning, 6 AM. Got it?" Without waiting for my answer, he rudely turns around slinking off and wiping his hand through his greasy dark hair. Bastard. I won't be here tomorrow morning anyway. I'm going clubbing tonight.

.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.O.o.

The sound reaches my ears, I'm not even near the club yet, but I can hear the pounding music. I reach the street of the club, the color of the neon sign shadowing on me. Last Place flashes blue, pink, and purple, yellow, green. Yeah, they're right, this is going to be the last place for an unlucky someone. The checklist unconsciously runs through my mind, as I walk across to the bouncing building. A long line waits to enter the pathetic excuse for fun, watching as I saunter past the bodyguard. I enter through a fog of cigarette smoke, openly coughing in the process, my eyes water and I shake my head to prevent sliding tears. The door closes with a thud, and already I can feel the sound through my skin.

Drinks spill across the floor, fights break out. The bass increases and I dance through the floor. I jump on a table, searching for the target. His bright blonde hair bobs up and down while he dances promiscuously with a woman. She raises her hands, and I see the glimmer of a ring on her left ring finger. _Shit, I was hoping it wouldn't come to this._

A moment passes, where I almost decide to not do this. But, and yes there is always a 'but,' I remembered the call I got last night. The threatening voice of my father saying I would be a disappointment to the family name if I didn't do this soon.

So it is now a choice between hurting this guy's family and disappointing my own. Each and every time I do this, each and every time, this always happens. This is the hardest choice I ever make, and yet I still decide the same one. All because I hate disappointing people, especially my family.

I jump off the table, heading toward dancing couple. Flashing lights illuminate my face as I wind through the maze of dancers. I realize at this moment, when I stop in my tracks, halfway there, that I have no idea how to get him away from his girl and into my trap.

I don't want to seem suspicious standing in the middle of a dance floor, so I walk into the girls bathroom. I start to turn the corner when I see a bartender washing her hands at a porcelain sink. Her make-up bag sits on the shelf in front of her, so I know she'll be here a while. An idea suddenly pops into my head as I grab part of my dress and rush into the bathroom stall.

"Shit." I say after a moment. I hear her turn and know I have her wrapped around my finger. I swear a few more times, and see her shadow appear in front of my stall. "Hey, is anyone still in here?"

"What's wrong?" A rash voice asks in kindness.

"My ex-boyfriend is here, and I am wearing the dress he bought me. He beat me all the time and I actually had the guts to break up with him a while ago. If he sees me wearing this dress, he might think that I love him again. I don't." To add to the drama, and make it more realistic, I burst into tears. "I am afraid, I don't want to hurt him, but I don't want to be with him."

"Can I do anything to help you? I can call security to get him out of here…" The bartender's voice trails off.

"No," I sniffle. "I should just take this as a woman and deal with him…I just don't want to be beaten again. I almost died the last time." I stop there, waiting to see if she would say anything. She doesn't and we stand in a few moments silence. "Hey, could—no, you wouldn't and it probably wouldn't work."

"What? I want to help you. I don't want somebody to be hurt because of some stupid boy."

"I was going to ask if I could borrow your uniform for a few seconds, so I could walk up to him and tell him off. Get him away and show him that I never want him back again." I stand in the stall waiting for an answer. When I don't get one, I think that I went too far, hopelessness dragging down my heart.

In a matter of a minute, the stall next to mine locks shut, and a pair of shoes slide under the doorway. "Give me your dress and at the end of my shift I'll come find you."

I look at the stall dividers in shock and doubt before mumbling a "thank you" before undressing myself. I can not believe that this is actually working. I was first going to pretend that I stained the dress, but then figured she might not offer her clothes up. Having read many books and stories, I know that there is a big cliché concerning girls who get beaten by their boyfriends or father figures. Might as well use that overused cliché to my advantage.

Within minutes of getting changed from my sultry red dress to a black vest and a tuxedo shirt, the bartender, whose name is Amaya, and I stare at each other with wide eyes. We look very much alike, as if we're lost twins seeing each other for the first time in years. It is as if we are in the story The Princess and the Pauper.

"Good luck getting rid of the bastard." She says with a slight slur I have never noticed before. _I wonder how many drinks she has had tonight already._ "If you need anything. Call security, there is a call button on the belt." She stops when she hears the door open, a pale girl running in. We both watch as said girl runs into a stall, where we hear vomiting. Amaya looks at me again, lowering her voice to a whisper. "I disguised the button as the belt buckle, that way if anything happened, I could just hit it and they'll come running."

I look at her impressed. Who knew she was so smart? "Thanks so much for all of your help. We're going to meet here in 45 minutes right?" She nods and I smile. "You are the greatest person ever. I am so happy to have met you today." I pull her into a hug and watch as she walks into the club to get back to work.

"Hey, can you help me? My dress is all gross. Can I borrow yours?" The vomiting girl asks shakily from the stall. I don't answer and walk out of the bathroom leaving her in a state of desperation I was just in. Oh well, it's not my problem.

I take a drink from the top of a table, where someone went off to dance with their friends. I casually walk up to the target, a fake smile spreading across my face. I lead him to the trap, where everything goes according to plan. My father would be so proud.

I calmly walk out of Last Place amidst the chaos erupting from the bloody trap. His fiancé sobs into the shirt of a security guard and a pang hits my heart. I had ditched the bartender's uniform for my jeans and black tee, a hat covering my now greasy hair. The zits are back where they were and I have my thick glasses back on. My vision blurs and perfects itself, fluctuating, before getting to a good vision. Amaya looks around, blood on her hand, obviously looking for me, well the person who is no more. _Time to go home._ The Last Place has lived up to it's name. For one person at least.


End file.
